


The Lesson

by softestpunk



Series: Champion [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Biting, Blindfolds, M/M, Rope Bondage, this is not a PSA about good BDSM practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 03:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16802632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: After Geralt runs off to do his job for ten days, his and Emhyr's reunion gets intense.





	The Lesson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keyrousse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyrousse/gifts).



> Heads up: this is not written as modern SSC BDSM, this is Emhyr var Emreis tying up a man he emotionally feels some amount of ownership of + knows can take care of himself. If a lack of safewords and total disregard for orthodox aftercare is going to bother you, go no further.
> 
> If not, go forth and enjoy.

Ten days.

Geralt had been gone for ten days.

It had been for a good cause. A wyvern had been terrorising an outlying village, and Geralt, out of some combination of boredom and nobility, had ridden out to do something about it.

Without mentioning that he planned to do so other than by leaving a note on Emhyr's nightstand.

Of course, Geralt could come and go as he pleased. But it would have been nice to be _informed,_ personally, instead of waking up to an empty bed and having to learn that he’d disappeared by way of a short, misspelled letter.

However, Emhyr now knew two things: Geralt was about to return with the beast in question in tow, _and_ he had promised, at the end of his note, to make up for leaving in the first place.

Emhyr planned on taking advantage of this.

Perhaps he should _not_ have been standing in the palace courtyard, fighting not to pace, when Geralt burst through the front gates, driving a wagon with a caged wyvern in the back of it.

He certainly shouldn’t have been so _pleased_ when Geralt grinned at him, still flushed with victory, eyes gleaming and covered in sweat and road dust and undoubtedly all manner of other substances.

But he was. Seeing Geralt in one piece, not visibly any worse for his adventure, made Emhyr very, very happy.

“Got you something,” Geralt said as he handed the reins over to a young guard, who seemed both in awe and terrified of the beast he’d just been given control of, not to mention Geralt himself.

Emhyr hadn’t the first idea what he was supposed to _do_ with a wyvern, and suspected it was only here because Geralt’s heart had softened too much in his old age to kill it outright.

The worst part was, Emhyr already knew he’d find somewhere for it, and have it well taken care of. Perhaps he could show it to people who were being uncooperative.

“How fortunate that I have _also_ gotten you a gift in your absence,” Emhyr said as Geralt approached him…

And then closed the gap between them, shoving his fingers greedily into Emhyr’s hair and pulling him into a desperate, needy kiss that tasted faintly of cheap beer and _smelled_ so awful that, despite the fact that he was suddenly at peace for the first time in ten days, made Emhyr wince.

It also made one or two guards laugh faintly.

They _liked_ Geralt. He was, to their minds, one of them, even if he did retire to the same bed as the emperor at the end of the day.

“You need to bathe,” he said, pushing lightly against Geralt’s chest and trying not to obviously wrinkle his nose at the smell. “And eat, I have no doubt.”

“If you’re coming with me, sure.”

Emhyr gave his best long-suffering sigh and if-I-must eyeroll, but he had cleared his schedule for the afternoon yesterday once he’d known Geralt was expected back today.

“Very well,” Emhyr said, turning to lead Geralt inside.

“Wait, you said something about a gift?”

“I did, didn’t I?” Emhyr responded, absently, as though he’d forgotten. “Well. It is for both of us, and I suspect that even _you_ would hesitate to be given it in public.”

Behind him, Geralt’s previously dawdling footsteps sped up a touch.

***

Geralt sighed happily as he relaxed into the bath, watching Emhyr round the other side and climb in opposite him, plenty of room for the both of them. He plucked a grape from a bunch at his elbow, chewing slowly, letting the sweetness and the warm water soothe him after a hard journey.

Three days in, he’d desperately wanted to go home.

And then he’d had a little crisis about Nilfgaard being home now--about _having_ a home--and then about _Emhyr_ being home.

Which had lasted maybe an hour before he just… wanted to go home again.

It was good to be back. His urge to wander had been satisfied for quite a while.

“You are _covered_ in bruises,” Emhyr said, and he was trying to sound reproachful, but Geralt could hear the note of concern in his voice.

“I’m fine.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome to give me a couple more.”

Emhyr raised an eyebrow.

It wasn’t uncommon for one or both of them to end up bruised--things got rough, or they got possessive--but they’d never really _talked_ about it, either. They were both grown men who could handle themselves and say no if it was too much.

Besides, Geralt had watched Emhyr check a bruise or two in the morning, tracing the shapes of them with his fingers, gasping at the pain and remembered pleasure while pressing his thumb into the centre of them.

It was _fine_ , but it wasn’t really deliberate.

“I have other plans for you,” Emhyr said. “Since you did promise that you would make up for leaving so abruptly.”

“I hope it involves fucking me until I pass out,” Geralt said, figuring there was no reason not to tell Emhyr exactly what he wanted. He almost always _got_ it, and what he wanted most in the world right now was to lie back and close his eyes while Emhyr did whatever the hell he wanted to him, just for the sake of being close.

Ten days. _Ten days_ and he’d come back a needy wreck who wanted to be kissed and petted and slowly, gently fucked for as long as he could stand it.

If he hadn’t known he was stuck with Emhyr before, he did now.

“You really must be careful what you wish for,” Emhyr said.

Geralt closed his eyes, smirking. If he was _really_ lucky, Emhyr had missed him just as much, and the next day or so was going to involve some _spectacular_ sex.

He could hardly wait.

***

Emhyr ran the coil of rope he'd set aside several days ago through his hands, feeling the softness of the well-washed cotton under his fingers.

He had _almost_ chosen something harsher, leather straps or even shackles, but no. No, the rope allowed a great deal more flexibility, and there was warmth to it.

The point was not to punish Geralt. The point was to keep him in one place for an extended period.

“This is for you,” Emhyr said, turning to the witcher and holding the neatly-wrapped coil out to him.

It had been dyed black, naturally. Emhyr wasn't sure he would have been able to explain what he wanted with any other colour.

He was _quite_ sure that it was entirely clear what he'd wanted it for, in any case. Not that it mattered. There was, at this point, no one in the empire not aware of the exact nature of his relationship with Geralt, aside from those too young to grasp the concept.

It had caused people to start smiling at him, even prompting them to share tales about their own lovers. Much to Emhyr's distress.

He was not accustomed to being relatable.

Geralt accepted the coil, feeling the weight, pulling the end out and testing the strength of the rope.

“Okay,” Geralt said, handing the rope back.

No objection. Not even a _question_.

Geralt simply understood what Emhyr wanted, and was agreeing readily.

“You're certain?” Emhyr asked, feeling the weight of the coil in his own hands as though for the first time, as though it now also held the weight of the trust he was being given.

Geralt would hardly be helpless no matter how tightly Emhyr bound him, but it was still more than he had ever asked. The witcher had almost certainly been tied up with malicious intent before.

“You felt like I ran away,” Geralt said softly. “You were afraid I wouldn't come back, and now you wanna keep me in one place for a while. I get it.”

Emhyr wasn't sure he'd ever _quite_ get used to being seen through so readily. To having his thoughts, feelings and motivations so thoroughly exposed in front of this man, who seemed to be able to look at him and see his soul.

“And you are willing to endure it?” Emhyr asked, afraid that his possessiveness would finally prove too much, that he would drive his witcher away once and for all.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I'm planning on enjoying it.”

***

Geralt hissed as Emhyr pulled the last knot tight at his wrists, his fingers already tingling from the way the ropes restricted his circulation.

“Too tight?” Emhyr's breath ghosted over his ear as he clenched his fingers, forcing blood into them.

“Little bit,” Geralt said.

“Good,” Emhyr purred, tucking the loose end into Geralt's hand.

He didn't need to be told that tugging on it would pull the knots free. The gesture was easy enough to understand without words.

He wasn’t tied _to_ the chair Emhyr had set him in, but the way his forearms and wrists were bound behind him made it difficult to get off it. Not impossible, but difficult.

Geralt wasn’t _trapped_ , but neither could he move without effort, without deliberately doing something to his bindings.

“Would you accept a blindfold?” Emhyr asked, still behind him, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sure,” Geralt responded, willing his cock not to twitch and give away just how much he liked that idea.

Naturally, it twitched anyway.

A moment later, the world went dark, cool silk covering Geralt’s eyes as Emhyr tied another knot at the back of his head.

He reached out with his other senses, focusing on Emhyr’s heartbeat, the scent of cardamom and oud that followed him everywhere, never overpowering but always comfortingly present.

Geralt had never thought to _say_ so--and maybe he should have, maybe he would later now that he’d had the thought--but the way Emhyr took care of himself made him an endless source of sensory interest for a witcher who could tell when he moved to a new batch of shaving soap by the subtle differences in the scent.

Oh, and the scent of _arousal_ on him. Gods, Geralt could have rolled around in that for days, and Emhyr had caught him with his nose pressed to the mattress more than once, breathing the two of them in, his heart swelling with joy at their combined scents.

Nothing made him happier than the scent of a partner’s arousal. Especially when he could smell himself on them, know for sure that he was the cause.

And especially when it was _Emhyr_ , who smelled more incredible to Geralt every time they were together.

It was nice to have a break from seeing and feeling too much so he could concentrate on what he could hear and smell. Maybe, if he was _really_ lucky, what he could taste, too.

“You are _very_ appealing like this,” Emhyr murmured, one hand on Geralt’s shoulder as he moved to stand in front of him. Geralt could picture him clearly, standing and considering him, still fully dressed in contrast to Geralt’s complete nudity.

Geralt swallowed as Emhyr’s fingers trailed down his chest, setting his nerve endings on fire in their wake. Without being able to _see_ , everything felt so much more intense.

“I might do anything I wished to you,” Emhyr continued, his fingertips resting on Geralt’s belly, along the edge of an old scar.

A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine at the thought. Not that he’d ever _stopped_ Emhyr from doing anything, nor did he intend to, but he _did_ like the idea of being helpless. Just a little.

Emhyr’s other hand moved to Geralt’s jaw, holding gently, the pad of his thumb brushing over Geralt’s lips.

“It’s so hard to look away from your eyes that I forget how stunningly beautiful you are,” Emhyr said, pressing his thumb past the seal of Geralt’s lips. Geralt opened his mouth automatically, let Emhyr scrape past his teeth, lapped at him gently with his tongue.

The way Emhyr’s breath hitched made Geralt’s heartbeat speed up, excitement at the the scent of arousal coming from Emhyr suddenly flaring up.

Geralt sealed his lips around Emhyr’s thumb, humming softly as he tasted the familiar salt and soap of his skin.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, savouring the way Emhyr’s scent was changing, the heat rolling off his body. He could picture Emhyr’s face, pupils wide, lips slightly parted, the just barely loosened-up look he got when he was turned on.

“You’re smiling,” Emhyr said, and Geralt could hear a smile in _his_ voice, too.

“I can stop,” Geralt offered around his thumb, though it would have been one hell of a challenge to actually go through with it.

“You need not,” Emhyr murmured. “I have missed your smile.”

Geralt swallowed, a rush of blood making his head light. Emhyr admitted to _missing_ him.

Maybe he'd actually been gone a little too long. It'd definitely felt that way on his side.

Emhyr removed his thumb from Geralt's mouth, but immediately replaced it with his lips, fingers threading deep into Geralt's hair. He tugged and pulled the way he knew Geralt liked, the perfect balance of pain and pleasure leaving his cock throbbing.

He moaned a deep, rumbling moan as Emhyr's free hand wrapped around his cock, pen-callused fingers sure of every inch now.

Geralt didn't bother holding back, happy to luxuriate in being taken care of like this, leaning into Emhyr's touch as much as he could, his cock leaking precome all over his emperor's hand.

Emhyr murmured something to him, and Geralt took a moment to realise he was struggling to understand because it'd been in Elder Speech.

Ah.

So _that_ was what they were doing.

“Come again?” Geralt asked.

Emhyr's breath warmed his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he repeated himself.

_I have missed you,_ Geralt translated in his head. _As the sun misses the morning._

And Geralt was _pretty_ sure that was someone else's poetry and not something Emhyr was just saying on his own, but he really liked it all the same.

“If I make a joke about the sun rising when I get back, will you walk away?” Geralt asked, shifting his hips to encourage Emhyr to keep touching him.

“There is a very real possibility,” Emhyr said. “But I am glad you understood.”

Geralt not only understood the _words_ , but also what Emhyr couldn’t quite bring himself to say without disguising it as a lesson.

“I’ll tell you I’m going next time,” Geralt said, because he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t leave again, but…

“I’ll always come back,” he promised instead.

Emhyr didn’t respond--and honestly, Geralt didn’t really _expect_ him to. He just wanted Emhyr to hear it.

Geralt had once thought he and Emhyr loved very differently, but he'd since realised that they were exactly the same.

They both loved without really expecting to be loved back.

Instead of saying anything, Emhyr claimed Geralt's mouth again. And Geralt _still_ loved the way Emhyr kissed him, and he definitely wanted to see where this was going, so he sat back and took it. Took the way Emhyr forced his tongue into Geralt’s mouth, licked at his palate. The way he thrust his tongue deep and slow, tasting Geralt’s mouth, offering a preview of what he planned to do with his cock later.

Not that Geralt really needed a hint anymore.

Geralt made a soft, happy sound as the kiss broke, rocking his hips into Emhyr's hand to encourage him.

Normally, pushing Emhyr like that made him push _back_ , but this time was different. Instead of backing off or walking away, he twisted his wrist, gripping Geralt's cock harder, keeping him right on the edge of pleasure and pain.

“Emhyr,” Geralt hissed, head tilting back as he gave himself over to whatever the hell Emhyr wanted to do to him.

The heat of Emhyr's body hovered close, the scent of his skin making Geralt shiver. The pit of his stomach fluttered, his body automatically excited about Emhyr being close to him, near enough to reach out and touch if Geralt had the use of his hands right now.

Emhyr's breath ghosted over Geralt's neck, goosebumps rising all over the skin there.

Geralt hissed at another twist of Emhyr's hand, his cock leaking precome freely now, hips rocking into the touch, a needy whimper sounding in the back of his throat. He was so goddam _close_ he just needed the barest nudge over the edge.

He barely had time to register the feeling of Emhyr's teeth against his neck before Emhyr was biting down, hard enough to make Geralt see stars behind his eyelids over the sudden shock of pain.

He hissed as his orgasm hit, hips bucking into Emhyr's hand, threatening to tip the chair over. Emhyr grabbed the back of it, saving Geralt from falling as he rode out the waves of pleasure, neck throbbing where Emhyr had bitten down on it.

The whole thing was enough to make Geralt's head spin as he finished, wrung dry by Emhyr's still-working hand.

Emhyr _finally_ let go of his oversensitive cock when Geralt hissed through his teeth, and despite everything, he missed the touch immediately.

Geralt followed the sound of Emhyr walking to the washbasin, cleaning his hands, and then pacing back.

He pressed his thumb deep into the bite he'd left on Geralt's neck, and Geralt's cock twitched in response.

“The bruise you requested,” Emhyr murmured. “Though I doubt it will last long.”

Geralt's heart seemed to flip over in his chest.

Yeah.

Yeah, he _had_ wanted Emhyr to leave a mark on him. Confirmation that they were okay, that Emhyr still wanted him.

He hadn't left Emhyr's side--or at least his general vicinity--since the tournament.

He needed to know the spell hadn't been broken.

Emhyr hummed as he cleaned Geralt's skin off, tossing the cloth aside when he was done and then moving behind the chair to pull on the loose end of the rope, knots unravelling like they'd never been there.

Geralt made a soft, disappointed sound. He'd just been getting into this.

And he didn't want it to _stop_ , because he needed it, too.

“You should take this opportunity to stretch your arms,” Emhyr said. “I plan to bind them in front of you next.”

Oh.

Geralt swallowed thickly.

That was more like it.

***

Emhyr found himself standing in front of Geralt, rubbing the red marks away from his arms, and deriving so much pleasure from the task that he could barely begin to process it.

They had been moving toward this, he realised. Inevitably, since the summit, since they’d laid their cards on the table and everything had changed. Emhyr had stopped worrying that he was taking and allowed Geralt to give, determined that _this_ was what he wanted, or needed, or perhaps this was the entire reason he was here.

The urge to take _care_ of someone, someone who would appreciate it, was one Emhyr had long tried to bury in the depths of his soul as impossible to fulfil. He had never been able to trust anyone with this.

Until now. Geralt could be trusted.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Geralt objected, though the way his body had gone lax and his breathing had become slow and shallow suggested he was enjoying this as much as Emhyr was.

“And yet, I am not tying you up again until the marks fade,” Emhyr murmured, running his palm along the top of Geralt’s forearm, coaxing the blood back into it. Witchers were robust and this would undoubtedly do him no permanent harm, but Emhyr would not be callous with him. Did not _want_ to be callous with him.

He had few enough remaining ways of showing his heart that he could not afford not to use all of them.

Geralt sighed dramatically, still blindfolded, and it had already occurred to Emhyr that he would have to experiment further with a witcher who could not see.

“Have I ever told you that you smell incredible?” Geralt asked.

“I have frequently been aware of you scenting me,” Emhyr responded, trying to keep his voice even. He hadn’t quite revealed to Geralt how much he enjoyed that, mostly for a lack of words to describe it.

“I like the way you smell,” Geralt said, simple honesty in every syllable, and Emhyr never quite knew what to _do_ with that. It was disarming in a way he simply wasn’t used to. “If I’m going anywhere again, I’ll remember to steal a shirt on my way out next time.”

Emhyr snorted, not least of all because the amount of time any one of his shirts spent unwashed after he wore them was very short, and Geralt was inevitably asleep at the time.

Perhaps he could have them left until morning from now on, though. Just in case.

“Another man might find that a very unusual compliment,” Emhyr murmured, setting Geralt's arm down and picking the other one up, working the wrist gently and pushing the fingers back to stretch them.

“Most other men aren't sleeping with a witcher,” Geralt murmured in response. “This is fundamentally weird.”

Geralt hummed as Emhyr rubbed the heel of his hand along the inside of his forearm, one of the few patches of genuinely soft, sensitive skin on the witcher.

“Only one man in the known world is sleeping with an emperor,” Emhyr said. “At least, as far as my intelligence reports inform me.”

Geralt grinned at that, obviously pleased with himself. “I’ve been unique all my life,” he said.

“Yes,” Emhyr murmured, raising Geralt's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against the palm. Drinking in the tiny hitch of breath, a sign that his witcher was enjoying this.

He paused, and then kissed his way down, brushing his lips against Geralt's wrist, nipping and kissing along the sensitive skin before setting his teeth over the flesh of Geralt's forearm, beside the crook of his elbow.

Emhyr waited two heartbeats for an objection. Receiving none, he bit down again to the sound of a soft gasp--not of pain, but so clearly of pleasure that it sent a bright bolt of arousal to the pit of his stomach.

He had not learned _everything_ about Geralt. Not yet.

“The bed, I think,” he murmured against Geralt's skin, drawing him up from the chair by the gentle grip on his arm.

***

Geralt moaned eagerly as Emhyr's cock finally slid home, what felt like hours of tension and anticipation finally flowing out of him.

Emhyr had him tied to the bedframe by his wrist, but with enough rope between the knots to turn Geralt whatever way he liked. Geralt still had the loose end in his hand, but he wasn't inclined to pull on it.

Not when he could lie on his side, Emhyr's knee between his thighs, chest pressed up against his back, and thick cock finally, _finally_ filling him up.

He'd missed this. Ten days and he needed it like air.

Emhyr's broad hand splayed over his belly, possessive in just the right way, and Geralt was _still_ waiting for that to bother him, but it didn't. It probably never would.

Few people had ever _wanted_ to lay claim to him like this, and he couldn't get enough of it now that someone did.

Emhyr murmured something in his ear, and it took Geralt a moment to translate past the shiver Emhyr's breath sent running down his spine.

_Did you miss me_?

“Yes,” Geralt gasped, his whole body tensing as Emhyr hit just the right spot inside him, a trickle of precome rolling down his cock in response.

Emhyr's thumb traced circles on his belly, a counterpoint to the rhythm of his hips.

Geralt liked sex--always had, always would--but there were times, like this, when sex with Emhyr rose to heights above heat and friction and the urge to come, a soothing act between two people who'd lived their lives on the edge and could offer each other comfort and solace.

It was so damned _good_ when it was like this.

Emhyr’s hand shifted, the searing heat of his fingers curling around Geralt’s cock, thumb swiping precome away from the head and spreading it down the length, slicking the way.

Another murmur, this one even softer than the last.

_Were you faithful?_

Geralt’s heart clenched in his chest. Maybe he should have been upset that Emhyr didn’t trust him, but it wasn’t about _trust_. It was about Emhyr still not quite believing that he had this, that it was okay if he held onto it with both hands.

Geralt wasn't being accused of anything. Emhyr just had to ask.

“Always,” Geralt promised, but the opportunity to push Emhyr's buttons was too good to give up. “Despite multiple offers.”

Emhyr growled behind him, his grip tightening.

Suddenly, Geralt was being pushed over onto his front, shoved into the mattress, and Emhyr was on top of him, his entire weight bearing down as he pushed Geralt's thighs apart with his knees, rough and merciless.

_Yes_.

This was exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for.

Geralt's fingers tangled in the sheets as Emhyr fucked into him, without pause or restraint, hips crashing against his own hard enough to bruise if he kept this up.

All Geralt could do was grin into the pillow and pant for breath, his hips too far from the bed to get any friction out of it, back arching, cock throbbing uselessly as it bounced against his own stomach.

This wasn’t soft or gentle or patient at all, and Geralt _loved_ it. He loved breaking Emhyr’s patience, tearing down his self-control, pushing him to let _go_ , take what he wanted. Emhyr’s restraint was incredible, but his raw need when he finally let it drop was something Geralt knew he had to himself. No one else had ever seen him like this.

And he loved this ridiculous man, and having something of his own about him felt so damned _good_.

With one hand still pushing his shoulder down, Emhyr _finally_ remembered that Geralt liked to come, too, and slid his hand under Geralt's body again, gripping his cock in a way that could only be described as possessive. Geralt laughed, which might have been dangerous for anyone else in this position, but it only made Emhyr fuck him harder still, the bed creaking ominously under them.

It didn't take long for Geralt to feel himself getting close, balls tight and thighs sore, with Emhyr's cock pounding insistently on that incredible sensitive spot inside him, his breath ghosting against the back of Geralt's neck. A desperate, telling moan escaped him, drawing another low growl from Emhyr.

The ropes pulled against his wrists, just starting to cut into him, his arms protesting the strain of the position. All the same, he wanted to stay like this, unable to escape but not interested in doing so anyway, happy to take whatever was coming.

“Harder,” he demanded, not sure if Emhyr was in any kind of mood to indulge him and gasping as he immediately did, Emhyr knocking Geralt’s legs out from under him and pinning him to the mattress, grunting against his skin with every thrust.

A moan caught in Geralt’s throat, escaping him as a strangled sound instead, his hips rocking against the mattress for more friction, annoyed for once that their sheets were so goddamn nice and not _nearly_ rough enough for this.

“I have lain in this bed and wished for you, night after night,” Emhyr panted in his ear, doing that _thing_ where he was almost ready to come but his brain still worked well enough for full sentences.

Geralt both loved and hated that, since he needed a solid few minutes after Emhyr fucked him to remember how words worked.

The thought of Emhyr lying here while Geralt had been gone, touching himself, thinking of him… that was almost too much. Geralt groaned, biting down on his lip as Emhyr kissed his neck, hot and wet and desperate, tasting Geralt’s skin as though it was the first time, as though it was the most exciting thing in the world.

Geralt barely had time to register Emhyr’s mouth on the bite he’d left earlier before a white-hot bolt of pain-pleasure shot through him, his whole body tensing up as his orgasm hit. Wave after wave of _feeling_ flowed through him, his shoulder throbbing, cock twitching, balls tight as Emhyr snarled, too, coming in a hot rush that sent off another ripple of pleasure in the pit of Geralt’s stomach, leaving him shuddering his way through the aftershocks.

He gasped for breath as Emhyr pulled him back onto his side roughly, cock still inside him to the hilt, and threw one leg over Geralt’s thigh to hold him close.

A soft grunt escaped him at the manhandling, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

After a moment, Emhyr moved his hair aside to kiss his neck, paying special attention to the bruise Geralt could feel blooming there, every touch sending a little spark of pleasure skittering over Geralt’s skin.

“Satisfied?” Emhyr murmured. Geralt shivered at the way his voice curled around the syllables and immediately added it to the running list of words he loved hearing Emhyr say.

It was… a long list.

“Oh yeah,” he sighed happily, letting his eyes fall closed. “Glad to be back.”

Emhyr huffed. “You may free yourself whenever you feel the need to,” he said, nuzzling the back of Geralt’s neck, a clear indication that he was ready to go to sleep.

Geralt sighed happily and decided he’d figure out getting untied in a minute.

It was good to be home.

***

Emhyr woke still curled around Geralt--albeit in an entirely different position--and smiled to himself.

He had missed this. The simple comfort of waking beside someone who wished to share his bed still felt like a novelty after so long without it.

Geralt was still tied to the bedframe. Or perhaps _still_ was the wrong word, since he was tied up very differently from the way Emhyr had left him, with just the one wrist bound by a long length to the headboard so he could curl up to sleep as he pleased.

Emhyr did not miss the significance of the gesture. Geralt planned to stay where he was, for the time being.

He smiled as he reached out, trailing his fingers along Geralt’s bare shoulder. The other man barely stirred, and Emhyr felt a tightening in his chest as he realised what a rare thing he had. Few people could be safe touching a witcher in slumber, even--no, _especially_ \--one who was bound.

Geralt barely stirred, only a slight smile turning up one corner of his lips at the contact.

“Sleep, my love,” Emhyr murmured, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s hair before rising for the day, his heart lighter than it had been for some time.

When he discovered yesterday’s shirt still unlaundered beside the bed, he paused a moment, then picked it up and tucked it into Geralt’s hands.

A sign, Emhyr trusted Geralt would understand, that if he did leave, he would always, _always_ be welcome back.


End file.
